Legion's Riddle Trilogy Box Set

by K R Sanford

  Grantham stood tall. He did not waver. “There are four hundred soldiers and a small company of others,” he said. “The others talk like slavers.” Grantham looked over to the cages at the stuffed aliens. “What would you do with more of the same?”

  The Emperor's flesh oozed red blood. The blood trailed over his spherical shell. Pores in the crystal absorbed the blood like a sponge turning it bright red.

  At last, he spoke in a calm soothing tone. “If they are what you say, if they smell like those who have fallen, hold them in the cages behind the two columns. Strip them. Feed them. Lock them tight away. Then we will add them with the other birds of prey.”

  Grantham groaned, “Ahwatootsee.”

  “Yes, Grantham,” replied the Emperor, “Ahwatootsee. Now, listen with your ears, my boy. Hear the steps of horses.”

  Grantham smiled. “Horses, sweet pretty horses,” he said.

  “Ah, the horses,” cooed the Emperor, “Yes, the Vallians, they come on four legs, heavy hooves, Grantham. They ride doubledesperate in their hearts. How many, Grantham? How many have come to me?”

  “Six hundred, My Lord,” replied Grantham. “Two hundred are horses. The others make the racket.”

  “It is music,” said the Emperor. “You should not cringe so, Grantham.”

  Grantham turned his scaly lip over his square jaw. “It sings a melody, but they sing no lyric,” he retorted.

  “You have a point,” agreed the Emperor. “This is sad. One day you will take that up with their musicians.”

  Grantham raised the plating over his eye. He grunted hollow like a tunnel moaning under a heavy weight. “Stokes will help them,” he said.

  “Yes,” cooed the Emperor. “And where is my shadowed great?”

  “He is around and about,” replied Grantham. “He wanted to be on lookout.”

  “Ahwatootsee,” groaned the Emperor. “When he gets back, his eyes will burn and he will be mad. He might even tell us a poem. What do you think?”

  “If it is fitting, my Lord,” replied Grantham. “I will ask.”

  “Yes, you do that,” said the Emperor. “Now, order your people back. I want to see for myself who makes this racket.”

  Grantham bowed and turned. He strutted off the Emperor's golden floor with the sureness of a noble beast.

  The ruling Amedans heard all that took place between the Emperor and Grantham. They rose from their stillness in a networked of elongated bolts. Nuances of celestial facts, figures and reasonings color coded their matrix.

  The matrix sent eerie tones and flashes of rainbows from one end of the barreled ceiling to the other. The rhythmic matrix sang an Amedan melody of rhapsodic equations and distillated theories. The matrix projected scenarios and consequences of the enemy ships.

  The rulers spiked waves of crackling messages from one Amedan citizen to another. The shared messages sent simultaneous replies to the core bodies of each hive. They left no doubt to the past, present and future of the newcomers.

  The emotions of the event thundered a crescendo of nano frequencies. They synthesized interwoven songs through the super-sensory matrix. The intelligence encrypted songs drove deep into the honeycomb hives. The hive in return sent hundreds of crystalline bodies vaulting into the matrix.

  The Amedans weaved in and out of the matrix in figure eights and elliptical orbits. At lightning speed they ebbed into the sound of ten thousand wings rushing together in absolute fury.

  As the Vallian army approached, the Amedans hushed their overture. They retreated back into their hives in silent whispers. They restored the golden glow to the Emperor Lord Legion's court below.

  William raised his hand and the horsemen came to a halt.

  Gonquin pointed, “The Gorks retreat. The music frightens them. The music always frightens them,” he said.

  The Vallians nodded and they all agreed. The music was frightening and proved a powerful weapon against the Gorks.

  William grinned and said, “Let's move slow and keep the beat to a steady march. Do not attack the Gorks unless they attack us first.”

  As the cavern ahead flashed a storm of light and thunder, the Vallians grew uneasy. Their fingers missed cords on their instruments. They sent offbeat claps down the sides of the colossal ship.

  The warriors moved slow like the March of the Vallian Dead.

  Gonquin and the Captain were the first to enter the Emperor Legion's court.

  Faragorn pranced sideways and reared his head. It was plain to see he did not like the stuffed alien trophies. Gonquin turned Faragorn away from the cages. They pranced across the front of the ship toward the white gypsum throne.

  John and Arnockel followed, staying clear of the foul-smelling cages. Chertog and William lead the horsemen past the propulsion vents and across to the other side. There they stopped.

  The slow beats of the funeral march echoed off the cavern walls and ceiling.

  William dismounted. He looked up at the honeycomb hives. He raised his hand for silence. The musicians responded and the chant faded.

  Marco slid down the back of Faragorn. After adjusting his cross-caster, he walked ahead, not wishing to alarm the Emperor. The John walked to the side of Marco.

  Gonquin, Chertog and Arnockel dismounted. The Vallians did the same. They stayed with the horses, if by chance, they got called to rally.

  Marco watched the ease at which the horses moved about. Several horses moved behind the Emperor's throne to drink the waters of the river.

  “What do we do now?” whispered John.

  Marco touched William's shoulder and said, “We're ready, William.”

  William made a slight bow before the Captain. “If you gentlemen would follow me,” he said. He walked across the flowstone floor to the Emperor Legion's throne.

  He looked around and picked out the sounds of feet scurrying from the tunnels at the top stairways. William looked proud, dignified and confident. He stepped onto to the polished gold floor. There, ten feet from the Emperor, William knelt. Marco and the Chief did the same.

  The Vallians held the horses steady and silent at the back of the great ship.

  The pale mass of the omnipotent oozed warm breath. The surface of the Emperor's body was a mass of black and blue flesh and crystal. Red blood vessels pumped life between his flesh and crystal.

  “We bring greetings, Emperor Legion,” said William.

  Almost in a whisper, came the helpless voice from the Emperor. “Who speaks?” His voice broke weak and meandering like a bewildered innocent.

  “It is I, William, my Lord; the Homalet, from the village of the Vallians.”

  Marco looked at the Chief. He was straight-faced. Marco knew William was being drawn out and baited. He caught the Chiefs eye and winked. He turned his face forward again.

  The Chief also knew better, he too looked forward and did not move.

  “William?” Legion elevated himself from his gold saucer and hovered two feet in the air. “I do not question your greeting, William,” said the Emperor. “I am concerned about this sad song you bring. But first, who are these you have brought to me, William?”

  “Oh, apologies, My Lord,” said William. “This is Captain Marco Miller, the same who returned Ambassador Gaff to you. And, this is Chief John Spierd who lives on Shrine Mountain.”

  “Yes,” replied the Emperor. His voice was affectionate and easy. “I have heard of both these men. Welcome,” he said. “And my thanks for returning my boy. The Amedans are the pro-counsel to this planet, gentlemen. Your courage was worth remark. The sacred Eucharist got offered, a great honor to Captain Miller. As well, I give my personal thanks, Captain.”

  Marco gave a slight bow and smiled. “I am glad I could be of service,” he said.

  The Emperor's color changed to a soft pink.

  “Now, I am informed you suffer at the hand of your own kind. Why is this so?”

  “A careless corporation of earthmen desired the Amedan technology, your Lordship.” Marco winced a
t his choice of words.

  “Relax, Captain,” said the Emperor. “Fortune always favors the brave. Now tell me, the pretty white stallion that studies the light in the Amedans’ temple, what is his name?”

  “Faragorn, My Lord. He is Gonquin's horse.”

  “Faragorn, a pretty name,” said the Emperor. “Faragorn is fair in many ways. He learns like Chief John Spierd, who continues to read the stars in the Shrine. And who maps the universe with his scanner. Have you deciphered the Riddle, Chief?”

  Chief Spierd beamed with pride at the Emperor's question. “Not yet,” he said. “I’m working on it.”

  “Well,” said the Emperor, “I will show you something before I leave. I don't want you to be alone without an answer.”

  “Yes, that would be good. Thank you, “said the Chief.

  “And before you leave you must hear our petition,” said William.

  “If I must, I must,” said the Emperor. “But I am concerned about your song. When I leave this planet, I will leave you in good hands. I know about the trouble that has come. I will tell you; as I will tell all your dear friends. Fear not, William. Be still and know; you are not alone here.”

  The Emperor's voice carried a sense of well-being for William. He rocked back and forth. A smile came on his lips.

  The Emperor spoke soothing words to William.

  At that moment, a large figure in white linen made his way down the stone-cut steps from the catacombs above. A shorter, stockier, thick-armed creature followed. He dressed in a brilliant blue robe down to his webbed, clawed feet.

  The Vallians began to stir. Marco could hear desperate whispers and got distracted. William turned his head. The Chief swallowed hard. Marco took one step back.

  Grantham stepped forward. He towered over the Captain. He bowed before the Emperor and said, “Master, pleasant greetings once again.” He straightened and tipped his head to the strangers.

  Marco and Chief Spierd acknowledged in kind.

  “Wonderful,” said the Emperor. The Emperor's color changed to the ominous pale amber. He continued. “Captain Marco Miller, I present Grantham, Governor of the Marillian Empire. And, next to him is Dr. Stokes. He is a whiz with mathematics and pretty good with languages, too.”

  The eight-foot doctor reached out a hand twice the size of the Chiefs. “Chief, that's a good name to have,” said the Marillian Doctor. “Everyone calls me, Stokes.” His voice was raspy. It was mixed with slippery hisses and misdirecting tones.

  The Chief took Stokes' hand. It was cold and smooth. He was not a worker. This was John's thinking. Neither was Governor Grantham. Grantham's build was solid; like an athlete, a formidable opponent if he were an enemy.

  The Chiefs idea of Gorks got shattered. Grantham was a diplomat of the highest caliber, no doubt of that. “Everyone calls me 'Chief,” he said, facing Doctor Stokes. “I was a Chief, or should I say, before I retired.” Chief Spierd would have said, For the Interstellar Forces. He thought it not a good time to raise questions.

  “Retired,” said Stokes scratching his long narrow chin.

  The Emperor interrupted Stokes' calculations. “Doctor Stokes,” he said, “Since you have on your precious tunic, and it is such a lovely white tunic. Come give us a poem, won't you, Doctor? Give us a poem of all you have surveyed for us today.”

  “Yes, my Lord,” replied Stokes, his head swaggered as he formulated his thoughts. “I have a poem for all to hear. I have been looking everywhere and I have discovered a disturbance. There is a rumbling too close for any good to come, my Lord.”

  “Yes, I'm sure,” replied the Emperor. “You have done well, Doctor. Come now, don't be timid. Tell us your poem.”

  Stokes bowed. “As you wish, my Lord; I offer up this challenge to the guardians of Ameda.”

  Come my Sons

  Let's have some fun

  And pray upon the lilies.

  For down they come,

  They run, and run

  like birds along the river.

  Don't miss a trick,

  If one is quick

  The quail will drop his feather.

  We’ll wait and hide, we'll stay outside,

  And never mind the weather.

  For there's none so sweet,

  As snared young meat,

  Or birds stuffed full in winter.

  Some may sit,

  And sit and sit

  In cages cold and bitter,

  But they will not be free, not even by me,

  It can't get any simpler.

  So, come my sons

  Let's have some fan

  And still these deeds of willies.

  That's all I'll say,

  The rest I'll pray,

  You give yourself in hither.

  It’s plain to see,

  Come follow me,

  And fill with flesh for dinner.

  Stokes finished his poem. He stuck his pointed snout in the air and pushed out his lower lip. He stepped beside the Captain, bowed and waited.

  “Hmm,” grumbled the Emperor. “Well, thank you, Doctor. That was a lovely poem, so thoughtful. We will consider your challenge and get inspired by your delicacy, I'm sure. But, since I have not heard from the Vallians,” continued the Emperor, “I will suggest they gather here, now. I would like a representation from them as well.”

  “My Lord,” spoke William. “I will call them.” William turned without another word. He walked off the golden floor. He disappeared in the throng of the Vallian warriors.

  Marco cleared his throat and said, “My Lord, I am curious. I was under the impression there was a species called Gorks living in the tunnels. Is there a race of beings that have dealings with your citizens by this name?”

  “Ah,” replied the Emperor, “An invention of the Vallians. It's a harmless nomenclature. But fortunately, this is not at all accurate.”

  Stokes' eight-foot body stiffened. His hands clenched tight under the long sleeves of his tunic. Gazing down at the Captain, he scowled.

  “Stokes has something to offer on that subject,” replied the Emperor.

  “No,” said Stokes. His scaly lips tightened around his bony jaw. He refused an engagement with the Emperor's perceptions.

  “Fine, Doctor, it feels so good to clear the air,” said the Emperor. “Stokes, you have checked the calculations I asked for and my ship is ready for liftoff. Is that an assumption I do not have to question?”

  Stokes bowed and answered, “It is, of course. You may activate launch sequence and the tractor beam will re-bore the main launch tube. All systems onboard are one hundred percent.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” replied the Emperor. “Now, we are ready.”

  William stepped back on the Emperor's gold floor and stood beside Captain Miller.

  “William, you will return,” said the Emperor. “These you have brought, represent the majority of your people?”

  “Yes, my Lord,” replied William. “May I present Gonquin the horseman and the friend to Faragorn; the one that studies the lights in the water. And, may I present; Lady Lucia, the owner of the lands of the northern hills.” William reached out his hand and made the final introductions. “Chertog, master of the tunnel, and Arnockel the mason have come as well with the blessings of all our people.”

  “Delightful,” cooed the Emperor. “I am honored by all who have journeyed here today. I am especially pleased to meet Gonquin. I have heard great tales of adventure and heroic deeds by your hand.”

  Gonquin bowed and returned a warm smile.

  “Thank you, as well, Lady Lucia, welcome,” continued the Emperor. “Gentle Vallians: thank you for coming. It is a treasure for me that you have come this long, long way.” The Vallians bowed and spoke all at once, thanking the Emperor for his kind audience.

  “Excellent,” said the Emperor. “Then with all principle parties present, I am going to offer my decision on the future of this planet. It is a logical choice, a choice that the Amedan citizens who remain are in agre
ement. It is also a logical choice to turn over official ownership of Ameda to all those who wish to stay and live in peace. Forget the troubles of past wars, if there was war at all.

  As I have it, the Marillians tried to warn of shallow waters and the Vallians took to arms. Then they broke up their own ships on the coral reefs and suffered a great loss of their people.

  Whatever your recollections on this matter, keep in mind, the survival of Ameda is in the balance. It depends on those who are alive and who wish to fulfill their aspirations. My decision is for those on the surface, as well as those existing below the ground and in the seas.

  There is more than enough motivation for all parties to work together in peace. There may come a time when simple desire may not be enough for your peoples. Then, you may want to share your deepest commitments. Build your families together. This I encourage. Because you will discover an untapped reservoir in the strength you share.

  Arnockel and Chertog may very well do their greatest work for the Marillians. Both your peoples will share the Amedan technologies. The Marillian Empire together with the Vallians will build a defense system. When I return, I will have realized an outstanding vision for Ameda. Most of the Amedan citizens will stay and mediate your progress.

  Governor Grantham, my boy, will take care of the misguided and foolhardy. We hope you will have no trouble working together. With two great cultures combined in your efforts for peace, you will prosper. Your ancestors will rejoice in your victories. This court is now adjourned.”

  With that, the Emperor Lord Legion moved in silence between Stokes and Captain Miller. The five Amedan high rulers circling the Emperor followed up the ramp below the belly of the great starship. They disappeared into an opening of spiraling triangular doorways.

  Governor Grantham signaled with an outstretched hand. “We retreat through the catacombs, follow me.” Grantham strutted up the carved rock steps. Captain Miller and the Chief followed behind Grantham. William and the Vallians lead the horses up the steps to the catacombs. They entered the world of the Marillians.

  The darkness was not as dark as Marco had expected. His impression of Grantham was favorable. They were heading to the surface on a steep dirt incline.